Sunday, February 24, 2013

Jazzed, Revisited

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

"If you have to ask what jazz is, you'll never know." — Louis Armstrong

                          “Don't threaten me with love, baby. Let's just go walking in the rain.” — Billie Holiday

Cacophony finger-snaps past chiaroscuro
bonds of solemnity and grace.

Exhale agonies of grief;
arched, aching beauty of specific flowers 
disturbs my path -
sow seeds of solitude in fallow soil,
unveil subtleties of desire,
menace mediocrity with a medley of visions.

Made intrepid by desolation's nuance,
pop the clutch on soliloquies of mourning,
leave skidmarks on rescinded redemption,
scatter gathered harvests of capricious salvation
with a fruitful bough.

Tattooed by trivialized truth and false contrition of chaos,
barter lamentations contained within a single sigh,
shatter orgasmic silence with fluttered eyes
that cannot see beyond the sacred, pale skin
of more frivolous shelter.

Archetypical angst obscures latitudes of landscapes
long denied. I shall give no dominion to darkness.

I defer regret, knowing 
a useless penetration of marrow.

Such a thrilling madness, this lingering life.